I Am a Rose
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: “I am no flower.” He chuckled at that. “I don’t know if I would say that.” She turned her head, clearly curious. “You are certainly no desert bloom, or lithe lily, that I can attest to. But, I would say that you are a flower. You are a rose. [BalxAshe]


**_AN: No, I don't own FF12. Or Balthier. Dammit, thanks for reminding me._**

**_Anyway, this is my first story. Please enjoy!_**

**I Am a Rose**

Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca had never been lithe as a flower. If she were to describe herself, she would not use words such as flowy, dainty, and gentle. Certainly, she was elegant and graceful – she was not raised a princess in vain, after all – but she lacked the certain characteristics to be considered a "flower". A flower was a princess who roamed elegant palace walls, lined with rich red carpeting and valuable antiquities. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca roamed the sewers of Rabanastre, nothing more than a rat taking refuge in the waterway that lay beneath the palace. She did not, she noted, crumple under the harsh weather of the Paramina Rift, as any ordinary flower would. She did not wilt when under siege of things unpleasant and unholy – instead, she would raise a carefully trained sword arm and strike down any foe that should hinder her path.

Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca was _not_ a flower.

Nor had she ever been one. Growing up with her brothers, the young Ashelia learned that in order to survive in the palace, she would have to be made of sterner stuff than a flower. She was never interested in gardens, anyway.

And yet, here she stood, in what she could only describe as a moment of irony. The handsome Rozarrian Prince knelt before her, clasping her hand and cooing, his warm breath gentle on her fingers.

"A 'Desert Bloom'," he suavely purred, and she felt the heat in her cheeks rising, and was vaguely aware of Penelo's light gasp and saw out of the corner of her eye a rather agitated sky pirate. She focused her gaze back to the Rozarrian. A head full of lush dark hear was bent over her hand, lightly grazing her knuckles with his lips, and she thought bitterly to herself, _I am no flower or bloom._ But then the warmth was gone, and Al-Cid Margrace stood, eyes gazing intently at her, so much her lungs felt constricted. And then he turned, and the matter at hand was business – how to find a way to stop an impending war. And with that, Ashe let all thoughts of flowers and blooms and things she had no business being associated with die in her head.

Her efforts had worked for a while, and for that she was glad. Although, upon returning to Mt. Bur-Omisace, she had no mind to even think about flowers, as she watch the blood of the mountains inhabitants pool and freeze on the earth. The Grand Kiltias slain, a mad judge intent on killing her, and those lifeless bodies at the base of the mountain – flowers and pretty things were the least of her concerns.

After their battle with the deranged judge, the genteel Prince Rozarria returned, injured and supported by one of his little "birdies". His wound obviously did not deter his courtship of Lady Dalmasca. "Come to Rozarria," he purred. _My Desert Bloom_, those unspoken words made Ashe shudder. She could only refuse.

He continued to try and convince her, and though Ashe's resolve did not waiver, it was clear that any words she spoke would have no effect. But then Balthier stepped in, offering her his assistance in both transportation to Archades and dissuading the Rozarrian Prince. Ashe could not quite understand the look Balthier then gave to Al-Cid, but she presumed that the pirate was as irritated with the prince as much as she was.

Al-Cid bid her goodbye, wishing his Desert Bloom good luck, and the party followed in suit. As they continued on their journey, Ashe tried to not think on the title given to her by the Rozarrian, as if she even had time to – the matter at had was a far more important task than any courtship from the foreign ruler. But her mind, she conceded, was far more stubborn than she gave it credit, and her thoughts dwelled on those two words: _desert bloom_.

She huffed to herself. She was no flower.

Unfortunately for the Dalmascan princess, her agitation did not go unnoticed. "Something wrong?" The voice asked, sounding innocent enough, but Ashe knew that he was mocking her.

"It is no concern of yours, pirate." She huffed once more.

Balthier "tsked", and walked even closer to her. Ashe noticed that while lost in her thoughts, she had dropped behind everyone else in the ranks, and was half thankful that Balthier had stayed near should she stray any farther. "After all this time, you still refer to me as 'pirate'. That wounds my heart, Princess." He smirked. She glared. He looked at her questioningly, and Ashe realized that he was truly curious as to why her state was so disturbed.

"Prince Margrace," she started, and she watched with interest as his previous expression soured, as if he had bitten into a rotten fruit.

"Yes," Balthier clipped in return, obviously wishing for her to continue. "What are your thoughts on the_ prince_?" The last word came out almost at a spit, and Ashe was taken aback by his disdain. She shook his reaction from her head.

"I loathe his title for me," she continued. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, not understanding which title it was Ashe spoke of. She continued, the spited words bitter in her mouth: "Desert Bloom."

Balthier shaped an "oh" wordlessly with his mouth, and then smirked just a little. "Pray tell, why is it you have so much disdain for the title, my Lady?"

"I am no flower."

He chuckled at that. "I don't know if I would say that." She turned her head, clearly curious. "You are certainly no desert bloom, or lithe lily, that I can attest to. But, I would say that you _are_ a flower." She opened her mouth to counter, but he waved her off.

"You are a rose."

It was at that point he walked away, ahead of her so that she could not question what it was he meant.

There were other instances in their journey when she tried to corner him, ask him "Why a rose?" But he had shrugged the question off every time, obviously not wanting to answer. Oh, how she was tempted on the coast of the Phon Islands, when he had told her of his past, but she realized that the time was not right, nor would it possibly ever be right, for Balthier was much fonder of being asked questions than actually answering them.

Ashe decided that the best way to deal with thoughts of her being a flower was to let those thoughts simply wilt and die – she never was one for tending to gardens.

But the opportunity presented itself to her again, although the timing shocked her, with Reddas' and Dr. Cidolfus' deaths. Upon entering Reddas' manse, there was Prince Margrace again, and once again he attempted to woo her with pretty words and dainty touches, things Ashe despised for all their worth. After she declined to go to Rozarria, again, the party had left, though Al-Cid had called her to stay back. She did so completely reluctantly, not wanted to spend more time with him than was needed.

"How is my desert bloom, speak truly." He asked her, genuinely concerned. She could not help the words she spoke next – it was as if they had grown wings and flown out of her mouth without her consent.

"I am a rose."

Al-Cid raised a fine eyebrow. She breathed and took a moment to explain her, cheeks slightly pink.

"I mean to say, I am no desert bloom. I am a rose," she looked at him, feeling foolish, and cursing Balthier, not for any particular reason, but because in such instances he normally was a quite reliable person to place blame upon. _It was he_, she thought, _that put such nonsense into my head._

"Ah, I see," the prince clucked. "And I understand what you mean, Princess. For the rose is the most beautiful of all the flowers. Forgive me in my folly, your Majesty." And Ashe once again felt foolish, for now her saying she was a rose seemed so… vain. Yet at that same time, Ashe's heart gave a slight leap – had Balthier compared her to a rose because he found her, dare she say it, beautiful? Her cheeks reddened even more. But then, rationally, she realized that there was more to the story than that, for Balthier _was_ fonder of being asked questions than answering them.

"Yes… a rose," the prince's words snapped Ashe back to reality. He was much closer to her now, leaning in and examining her pink face, and she cursed her pale complexion – for surely Al-Cid thought that _he_ was the reason she blushed so. He leaned closer, but then there was a creaking of the door and footsteps, and Ashe thanked the Gods in Heaven for sparing her from whatever would have come next.

"Ashe," Balthier's voice made her heart leap. She turned, completely thankful, and looked at the pirate. His gaze was focused on Prince Margrace, and Ashe saw a glare was readily apparent on Balthier's features. Al-Cid dismissed himself then (not before kissing her hand), and coolly walked past the much agitated pirate.

Sheepishly, she looked at Balthier, whose figured had turned to see Al-Cid out the door. As he turned back, his eyes locked with hers, and that question, that dreaded question escaped her lips.

"Why a rose?"

He smirked. "The thorns. Why else?" And he turned to leave her, and she swore under her breath at that damn pirate for making her ask so many damn questions.

It was before they had departed for the Bahamut, she cornered him, determined to get the answer that she wanted. He only smirked at her, but she was Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca, and dammit, she would not be dissuaded.

"I am _no _flower!" She remarked angrily. "I am no flower, I am no desert bloom, I -, "

"But you _are_ a rose." He finished her sentence. She glared.

"Because I have thorns," she dully stated, disappointed that _that_, of all things, was the reasoning behind him labeling her a rose. His expression softened, his eyes locked with hers.

"All flowers are beautiful. The colors, the aromas and fragrances, the petals are beautiful," he began to explain. "However, most flowers are dainty, frail things, without substance, without _strength_." He paused, as if carefully considering his next words. "But you, Ashe," oh how she loved it when he actually used her name, "you are a rose. Not only because of your beauty, but because of your _thorns_." She looked at him harder now, still confused. He went on.

"A rose's thorns are tricky little problems. They are sharp and long – but they are not bad things, to say the least. No – they are actually the characteristic of the rose that _I_ am most fond of. For those tricky little thorns offer protection – they serve as the rose's sword and shield. The most difficult flower to pick is the rose. And why? Because its thorns shield the rose from unwanted fingers, and its sword stabs away at uninvited guests. A rose is unlike any other flower _because a rose is strong_." He said those words pointedly, staring straight into her eyes, and she noticed that he was closer to her now, his face only inches away.

"A rose," his voice was hesitant now, almost nervous and – pleading? "does not let itself get picked by Prince Rozarria."

She smiled at that, for she took comfort in the fact that he was actually threatened by Al-Cid Margrace.

"Why, pirate, are you jealous?" She could not help but ask the question.

He looked at her sharply, but a grin crossed his features. "Of course not, my Lady. I am quite good at picking roses." She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Pirates have much more _skilled fingers_," he smirked widely, bringing his own digits to brush across her arm. She blushed furiously at the entendre, and realized that if it had been anyone else, if it had been _Al-Cid_, she would have stuck them with her sword and that would have been the end of the conversation. But, she mused as his fingers gently trailed the length of her arm, Balthier was certainly not Al-Cid, and a part of her felt deeply humbled that he not only found her beautiful, but strong as well. He saw her as a flower that could defend and protect herself. Most importantly though, he thought she was strong.

_Pirates have much more skilled fingers,_ she blushed at those words. Did that mean he wanted to "pick" her? She looked up into his face, and gasped as he took the opportunity to close the gap and place soft lips upon her own. She noted absently that in the time she had spent pondering his words, his arms had made their way around her waist and pulled her into him, and she could have chided herself for not being more wary, especially in _his_ presence, but at the moment she simply did not care, for his lips were warm and his tongue soft, and his hands strong against her back.

Eventually, they realized that breathing was a necessity, and broke away, still locked in one another's embrace. He looked down at her with those hazel eyes, and leaned in again, but this time she was ready and she turned her head. All he managed was a light brush of his lips against her cheek.

His head popped back at that, confused, and she coyly smiled up at him. "You did not think that I would make it _that_ easy for you, now did you, _pirate_?" His expression grew more puzzled. She leaned into him, touching her nose to his lightly and teasingly. "After all," she continued playfully, staring into his eyes.

"I _am_ a rose."

**AN: So, I got this idea while I was in the shower this morning. And it would not leave me alone. So I decided to just write this little one-shot. It will only be a one-shot, because I don't have time to make it anything more. Unless you are all generous in your reviews and if I actually come up with a plot. BTW, this is my first story, so anything constructive is greatly appreciated!**


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